


Five Christmas Gifts

by EllieL



Series: Snapemas & Snolidays 2020 [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Presents, F/M, Smut, deepperplexity's Snapemas 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27916012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieL/pseuds/EllieL
Summary: Five Christmas presents between Severus Snape and Hermione Granger, as their relationship changes from mere acquaintance to something much more.For the Snapemas prompt "slippery slope" & Snolidays prompt "gifts."
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Series: Snapemas & Snolidays 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2040246
Comments: 16
Kudos: 180





	Five Christmas Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> I am ignoring the prompt numbers and posting out of order because 1) I'm combining some of these two holiday challenges to make things simpler and 2) this is my 100th story posted on AO3 and I wanted to.

The winter holidays were not generally something Severus Snape cared much about, but he had always appreciated the time of rest from the students. And this year that was especially true. The first semester back had been rough; he’d overestimated how much his body had recovered from Nagini’s venomous damage, and by lunch every day, he felt ready for a nap. Rarely had he had the opportunity to take one, and his slumber at night was insufficient rest for his body, feeling weary and worn far beyond it’s nearly thirty-nine years. A few weeks without students in the castle had left him almost well-rested, if no less prone to insomnia than usual.

Which was why he found himself strolling through the castle early on Christmas morning. It was chilly enough that he felt a bit of a burn in his lungs, though much of that could also be attributed to the remaining damage from the venom. Walking did him good, though, and he was slowly regaining his normal strength and stamina. No one else was about at this hour, except the house elves, and they kept out of sight and left him alone.

So it was with some surprise that there was a pile of gifts awaiting him upon returning to his chambers. Closer inspection reveal the usual gifts from the usual people, impersonal items from coworkers like steel stirring rods and shortbreads which he pushed aside to open later. The wards disallowed items being delivered to him from anyone he didn’t know, which left only two other gifts to rouse his curiosity—one was an elaborately wrapped shining cube that could only be from Draco Malfoy. A wave of his wand showed no curses or hexes awaiting him, so he undid the mass of ribbons and opened it to find a moderately sized silver cauldron. Expensive, and useful, but also wholly unnecessary. 

That left just one gift, wrapped in modest snow-white paper with a green velvet bow. A few flicks of his wand showed nothing untoward, so he cautiously picked it up to examine; the mystery was solved when he saw a familiar scrawl of “To Prof. Snape Happy Holidays from Hermione Granger” on a tag adhered to the bottom of the wrappings. Sneering, he considered tossing it into the fire, but curiosity to see what the swot had sent him left him ripping the paper away. 

Inside was a book, leather cover a light caramel, barely handled.  _ Displacement of Native Ingredients and Potion Efficacy. _ Interesting, and potentially useful, but not ostentatious enough to require any kind of follow up or acknowledgement. 

He settled in to read, appreciating the topic, but sparing no more thoughts for Miss Granger. 

*

Four years later, there was no choice but to reciprocate her gift, as she’d taken on the role of Transfiguration Professor. Granted, he sent her the same generic selection of useful potions he sent everyone else on staff—headache relief, fever reducer, SoberUp, PepperUp, and the like. 

She’d been trying, in spite of his best efforts, to befriend him this year. As she’d seemed to befriend all the rest of the staff. He’d done his best to ignore her, however intriguing he might find her overheard conversations at mealtimes. He’d never engaged in mealtime conversations, and he would not start now.

Yet she must have been paying attention to him, for rather than the generic gifts the other professors sent him, she’d noticed his coffee habit and sent an assortment to him that left him pleasantly buzzing for the entirety of the holiday break. He’d nearly thanked her; he settled for it glowering at her for the duration of the break, no matter how chipper she was at breakfast.

*

The next year, she gifted him coffee again; she must have been in cahoots with the elves, because she’d bought him more of the one he’d liked best. But this time she’d also included a mug, charmed to keep the coffee a drinkable temperature for several hours, so he could take it to his morning classes with him and not have it become chilled in the dungeons. 

He wanted to be grumpy about it, about her  _ thoughtfulness. _ But it was difficult when she sat quietly next to him and breakfast and smiled when his mug was topped off before he left for classes. After a week, he managed something that was almost a smile and a nod, before he whirled off to his classes. 

Dining next to her each day, he couldn’t fail to notice her, the polite way she would make an attempt to include him in her conversations, and after the holiday break, and his mug, he began to occasionally reply.

He found he enjoyed engaging in conversation with her. She was intelligent and thoughtful, and willing to examine all perspectives, even those far outside the mainstream.

One night before the spring break, he was shocked to find them both still in the Great Hall long after the dinner hour had ended, debating a Prophet editorial on unicorn management. It wasn’t even that they  _ disagreed _ on the matter; they were both just so caught up in their discussion they failed to notice that everyone else had gone. 

The chit had had their nerve to laugh when they noticed, and he had scowled at her. But he’d been secretly delighted by it, too. 

And so he continued conversing with her—at dinner, on shared rounds, over tea in her chambers and wine in his, as they walked to Hogsmeade overseeing students. They found themselves frequently together, and often chatting. Though there were amicable periods of silence as well, as they read together in the evenings, or did their markings, or admired the landscape as they ambled around the Black Lake.

*

Given the amount of time they spent together, he couldn’t fail to notice the scent of her, usually vanilla and orange blossom, heady and rich; he’d have been the world’s worst potion master if he’d failed to notice such a thing. So the next Christmas, when he mixed up mass batches of potions for the staff, he made something extra for her, a single vial of scent.

She found him as he walked the halls early in the morning. Maybe he found her; it shocked him to realize he was just down the corridor from her chambers as the sun was rising over the hilltops. 

“Oh Severus, thank you!” She’d rushed up to him and rose up on her toes, kissing his cheek. He froze still as the statue of Osbourne the Obstreperous at the end of the corridor, uncertain how to react. The gesture was, he admitted to himself, not unpleasant. Which may have been how he found his hand on her back, drawing her closer as she kissed him again, this time meeting his lips.

The kiss deepened as it went on, lips teasing and eventually opening, tongues brushing, and it felt like she was melting against him, warm and bright with the scent of orange blossom on this chilly morning. She fit perfectly against him, fingers reaching up to comb through the hair at the base of his skull until he moaned into the kiss.

They broke apart then, and he stumbled back against the freezing wall. Eyes wide, they stared at one another, just an arm’s length apart. Then, without either of them saying a word, she was back in his arms again, hands tangling in his hair and the soft wool of his robes, as his traced their way down her back to the curve of her bum, and tangled in her riotous curls.

Through sheer force of will, he removed his hands from her body and pushed back against the wall, propelling them both towards her door. “Your chambers?” he managed to gasp.

Rather than replying verbally, she grabbed firm hold of the cravat that was somehow already half-untied and dragged him through her door, which was flung open with a burst of nonverbal magic that was strong enough to send it bouncing back off the stone wall. They stumbled in together, a hasty tangle of limbs and robes being shed like old skin. 

Her hands came to rest over his, as he began undoing the buttons of his frock. She pulled away from their kisses long enough to shake her head, before taking over the unbuttoning, and resuming her kisses, working her way up his neck and along his jaw before meeting his lips again. There were certainly no objections to be made to that.

His fingers found the hem of her jumper and slid underneath, caressing soft skin before pushing it up. Fingers stroked her breasts through the silky material of her bra, as he pondered how to remove her sweater without breaking their kiss. Distracted as he was by her, it took him a moment to realize he possessed the answer. 

With little more than a thought, both their clothing vanished. That did break their kiss, as she pulled back and stared up at him for a moment. But rather than uttering any words of protest, she merely pushed him back towards her enormous couch. He happily felt back onto it, and she wasted no time in settling herself astride his lap. The heat of her against him was exquisite, and she seemed to appreciate it just as much, pressing herself fully against him, nipples tickling through his sparse chest hair. 

Her lips found his again, and her hand slid down between them, seeking out his cock. When she found it, grip firm and perfect, he broke the kiss and managed to groan out, “H--Her--Hermione.”

She met his near-incoherence with a look of pure delight. “I’ve wanted you for years now,” she whispered into his ear, before kissing along his jaw, down his throat, over the sensitive flesh there. 

“Yes,” he growled in response, as her tongue seared across his skin. 

That, apparently, was enough for her, as with little warning lifted herself up and began to sink down on him. He wanted to throw his head back and howl like a werewolf at the overload of sensation, but instead buried his face in the crook of her neck, teeth sinking into the flesh of her shoulder. This would be quick, he knew, and he was determined to let her take her pleasure, and do better next time. For their few words had affirmed to him that there would be a next time.

That knowledge took some of the pressure off as her internal muscles gripped him and her hips ground against him, seeking just the right angle, just the right rhythm. He slid his hand between them, searching out her clit, until she stopped him with her own, showing him right where she wanted him to be. He could feel her arousal, the hot thrum of her pulse, his own cock moving minutely into her, and it was almost too much. If he had not been a man used to tightly controlling his emotions, it would have been over at that moment.

She seemed no less inclined to making it a slow coupling, moving against him with vigour, lips seeking his out. They seemed to meld with his, as the two of them moved together in surprising synchrony. 

It was sudden, and almost shocking, when her arms tightened around him, at the same time as her pussy clenched around him. It was so startling, so overwhelming, that he was almost jolted out of his own crescendo of arousal. He took a moment to appreciate her, then twisted his hips, driving her higher, driving himself further into her. It was the best he’d ever felt in his life, feeling enveloped in her.

That thought was enough to drive him over the edge as she was collapsing against him. After a few final thrusts, he collapsed as well, pulling her along with him as he fell back on the couch, feeling entirely limp and boneless. Given Hermione’s little sigh of delight, she felt much the same way, and completely disinclined to move further.

Eventually she stirred, and he slid from her as he repositioned them both, drawing a soft blanket off the back of the couch to cover them both.

“Happy Christmas, Severus,” she mumbled, pressing sloppy kisses along his neck.

And it was, for the first time in many years, truly a happy Christmas for him, as he dozed off with her in his arms.

*

The next Christmas, early morning found him not wandering lonely through the chilly castle, but warm under downy bedding, wrapped around his delectable witch. He’d made her more of the vanilla and orange blossom perfume, yes, but his true gift for her would not be delivered via house elf. Instead, he summoned the small box from where he’d hidden it in his wardrobe; a great deal of control allowed it to settle onto the pillow a handswidth from her head. 

Then slowly, he began to wake her, nosing aside the curls covering her neck to begin kissing her, feather light to start, then progressing to fuller kisses with a hint of his tongue teasing her soft skin, still salty with the sweat of the previous night’s activities. One hand slid from where it had rested on her hip, firm not to tickle her stomach--for he’d learned she was quite ticklish--to lightly graze the underside of her perfect breasts, stroking until he could feel her nipples stiffening and her body as well, rousing from the languor of sleep. 

She made a noise of contentment, but he could tell the moment her eyes opened, as her body stiffened again. His hand stilled, and his lips found her earlobe, teasing lightly with his teeth, until she made a small sound of delight and surprise. 

The box was not well wrapped--it had not seen the attentions of a house elf. The silver wrapping paper was slightly wrinkled, and lumpy, and it lacked a bow of any kind. At the shop where he’d taken it for cleaning, they’d offered to wrap it up for him, which would have been elaborate and perfect, and decidedly not him. Instead, he’d brought it back home and done it himself, with a scrap of the paper Hermione had been using to exquisitely wrap the gifts she was sending.

“Severus?” Her voice was still husky with sleep, but her hand reached for the shining box. 

He kissed her neck, just behind her ear, tongue flicking out to catch her earlobe. “Marry me, Hermione.”

Without opening the box, she clasped it, then rolled over in his embrace, pressing the sharp corners of the badly wrapped box between them. “Yes, Severus, oh yes.”

Their lips met and tongues tangled until they were both breathless. Only then did she pull away and delicately unwrap the little box. She stared at the ring a long moment, but it did not appear to be the superficial assessment of another type of woman, who might be judging carat and color; after a moment, she asked, “Is this a family heirloom?”

Only after he cautiously nodded did she slip the ring out of the box and hand it to him, wiggling her left hand at him. “It was my great-grandmother’s,” he explained as he slipped the charmed ring onto her finger and watch it adjust itself to fit perfectly. “One of few Prince heirlooms that were passed along to me.”

“It will be my honor to wear it.” She kissed him again, dragging the cool metal of the ring down the curve of his shoulder, and beyond.

That Christmas, no one had any cause to wandering the cold corridors of Hogwarts. Indeed, it was Boxing Day before they left her rooms at all.

*


End file.
